


afterlife

by denounce



Series: People Like Us [5]
Category: L.A. Noire
Genre: 5 Things, 5+1 Things, Angst, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Minor Character Death, cole cries a lot oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 16:24:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14139885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denounce/pseuds/denounce
Summary: oh my god,what an awful word.The five times Cole told Hank that he loved him, and the one time he couldn’t. To the song Afterlife by Arcade Fire.





	afterlife

**i. afterglow**

_and after all the hangers-on_  
_are done hanging on to the dead light  
of the afterglow._

 

“You’re telling me you’re a Marine that can’t hold his drink?”

Cole’s chest bubbles with a laugh as he takes a long swig of whiskey— the brand that burns his throat, leaves him on the floor. He lowers it from his lips, a few drops dribbling down his chin as he grins at Hank. “We’re celebrating, Hank,” he says, clapping him on the shoulder. “We did something good here today; we’ve got to bask in our glory somehow.” He pauses. “I already bought you a watch, so— this is the next step, I suppose.”

Hank lets out a laugh of his own, and Cole finds himself staring. It’s light and easygoing, coming more in gasps than wheezes. And— God, the way that the corners of his lips turn upwards, the way that barely-noticeable dimples form in his cheeks… it’s intoxicating. Using the distraction to his advantage, Hank pulls the bottle from his hands and takes a generous sip— _far_ more generous than Cole could even imagine. When he’s done, he sets the bottle on the bar with a smug grin on his face. “You look like a deer in the headlights, Cole.”

Cole exhales through his nose, trying to tear his eyes away— but he can’t. Something buried deep within his heart is stirring, making it beat faster by the second. “That’s—” He finds himself without words. “—a lot to drink,” he finishes lamely, his breath caught in his throat as his chest hammers on and on.

Grin still on his face, Hank pushes the bottle towards him. “C’mon,” he says, and there’s something just beneath his voice that Cole doesn’t know how to process. “Match me.”

Cole nods, swallowing hard and taking the whiskey bottle by its neck. “I can try,” he murmurs, putting the bottle to his lips and—

—blacking out.

He doesn’t remember getting to the run-down motel. He doesn’t even remember leaving the bar. What he _does_ remember, though— what he _does_ remember…

His hands running down Hank’s bare flesh, pushing him deeper into the bed, their lips locked in a messy and desperate kiss. The name of the other on their lips when they pull away, trying to muffle their noises and get it done with. Hank’s blunt nails digging into his back when he leans in close, whines amongst whispers of _“I love you”_ and _“please don’t stop.”_

Cole doesn’t know what overcame him in that moment— he had never been with a man. Sure, he had thought about it ever since he could think, but he never thought it’d come true. Throughout his whole life, he’s been told that it’s _unnatural, disgusting,_ even _worthy of death_ to be in love with another man. But in that moment, that beautiful, ethereal moment, bathing in the afterglow with Hank… for the first time, he forgot.

“I think we’re meant to be together.” A pause, and a shaky breath. “Soulmates.”

“...I think so, too.”

 

* * *

  
  
**ii. eyes**

 _it was just a glimpse of you,_  
_like looking through a window_  
_or a shallow sea_ _  
could you see me?_

 

The first thing that catches Cole’s attention is always Hank’s eyes. Every time, without fail, he finds himself lost in them. Wide open and attentive, but never paranoid like his own— there looks to always be a plan hidden in his eyes, clarity granted only by sunlight turning them from a deep warm brown to a sharp amber. _Fires._ In the sun, two brightly burning _fires._

Fire is all-consuming. It blinds as harshly as it burns, whether it be with pain or beauty or something in between. But with Hank, fire can be soft. With Hank, fire can be warming, not searing.

With Hank, fire can be beautiful.

Cole doesn’t have to wonder if Hank looks at him the same— he’s said so. He’s always pointing out how stunning his eyes are, how they remind him of a frozen lake back home. How he feels that if he looks any deeper, he might end up drowning. _Stay above water,_ Cole had said in response the first time, _I need you._

He loves it when their gazes meet. He loves how the burning intensity of Hank’s eyes always thaw his own, turning ice to water, turning his heart from stone to tissue. He loves the feeling of Hank’s eyes on him from across the room, on the back of his neck, warm like the summer sun. He loves seeing Hank’s eyes illuminated by the very fire they took after, late into the night when they’re all gathered around the fire, telling stories.

He loves the way Hank _looks_ at him, as if he somehow means something. He matters to Hank, and that is the most incredible feeling he has ever, _ever_ had.

Deep into the night, they’re lying together, Hank’s fingers tracing constellations in the freckles on Cole’s shoulders.

“Don’t let go of me, Cole,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Cole breathes out a low chuckle. “I would sooner die.”

 

* * *

 

**iii. gone**

_but you say, oh_  
_when love is gone_ _  
where does it go?_

 

After the first time they had nearly been caught, they had their first fight.

It was messy. Even in hushed, frantic hissing, their throats were raw. They didn’t need to scream to cry, and they didn’t need to cry to see what they were doing to each other. They avoided each other for days, tensing in the other’s presence and not _daring_ to spare a glance. Shuffled feet and bitten tongues, buried truths and sunken hearts, day after day after day, an endless cycle.

It didn’t take long for Cole to break. He came to Hank’s tent with wild, sleep-deprived eyes and damp cheeks, pushing the fabric aside and immediately blurting out an “I love you.”

Hank looks up from where he’s sitting on his sleeping bag, shocked. “You—” He breathes out a sharp sigh, shaking his head. “Cole, you don’t get to come in here and fix everything with three magic words.”

“It got you to talk,” Cole says, sinking to his knees in front of him. “I mean it. I’ve never meant anything more in my entire life. I _love_ you, Hank, and— I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His eyes sting again— he’s trying desperately to keep his composure.

“Hey,” Hank says, his voice softer than before. “Hey, no, come here,” he says, opening his arms. Cole immediately leans in and buries his face in Hank’s shoulder, thankful for his hand running through his hair. “I didn’t know you were so broken up over this.” Hank shakes his head. “You gotta talk to me, you know?”

Cole pulls back to look him in the eyes, inhaling shakily. “I thought you hated me,” he admits quietly, trying to hold his tears back. _Not now. God, not now._

Hank stares for a long moment, lips parted in surprise. He shakes his head again, offering Cole a reassuring smile. “No, Cole,” he says, reaching up to brush a few strands of hair out of his face. “I could never hate you. You mean too much.”

Cole lets out a weak laugh, leaning back into Hank’s embrace. “You could never hate me,” he repeats, and it’s more of an affirmation to himself than anything else, “and— I mean too much.”

“Yeah,” Hank hums, rubbing Cole’s back to soothe him. “You do. I tell you every day, but— you do.”

It’s then that Cole exhales in a soft sob, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. “You’re the only person who thinks so,” he whispers, his arms around Hank tightly. “Thank you.”

Hank smiles wearily, shifting so he can press a gentle kiss to Cole’s forehead. “I love you, Cole.”

Cole finds himself smiling back. “I love you, Hank.”

 

* * *

  
**iv. truth**

 _can we work it out?_  
_we scream and shout till we work it out_ _  
can we just work it out?_

 

_“Look, I don’t care about myself, but what about Hank? How do you think he’d feel if he found out?”_

Jack’s words ring in Cole’s ears as he comes scrambling out of his tent, eyes frantically darting around in searching. He’s about to call out before he spots two of his fellow Marines sitting by the fire, talking. He swallows hard and comes up to them. “Have either of you seen Hank Merrill?”

One of them looks up, an eyebrow raised in questioning. “Was just outside of your tent,” he says, chewing on his half-smoked cigarette. “Left just before Kelso. More like stormed off, really. Why?”

Cole doesn’t respond, pivoting around on his heel and making his way through the camp with his stomach twisting and turning all the way. _He heard it,_ he thinks, feeling an ache pound at his skull as he nearly trips over his own feet. He curses under his breath, looking up and— his heart stops.

Hank’s facing him, back to the outskirts, fists clenched at his sides. “I have half a mind to punch you,” he says, glaring up at Cole.

Eyes wide with bile in his throat, Cole raises his hands defensively. He’s shaking. “Hank, please, I can explain—”

“What _is_ there to explain, Cole!?” Hank shouts, throwing his arms out to the side incredulously. “You lied to me! You lied to _us!_ ” He steps forward, and Cole can see in Hank’s eyes that it’s taking every fiber of his being to keep from strangling him right here. “God damn it, I was doing just fine with Jack! I didn’t need a serious relationship! Then you came along and— _fuck!_ ” He growls, running his hands through his hair as he steps away and paces back and forth. “Then _you_ came along—” He stops pacing, pointing an accusatory finger towards Cole. “—and acted like you loved me!”

Cole’s heart comes to a stop. “Wait,” he says, voice unusually hoarse. “Please. I have to tell you.”

Hank lets out a bitter laugh. “Oh, if you think another one of your _‘I love you’_ lines is gonna work—”

“No,” Cole says quickly, shaking his head. “No, it’s not that.” He inhales and exhales a deep sigh, continuing when Hank doesn’t say anything more. “I’m not… acting. It never was an act.” He averts his gaze, staring down at his feet. “If anything, my marriage is an act.” He hates the way Hank flinches when the word _marriage_ leaves his lips. “All this time, I’ve been lying to her about… God, about _everything._ Before I came here, before I met _you,_ I didn’t know I was…” He trails off.

Hank’s bright gaze sears him from the inside out. “If you’re serious, say it.”

Cole’s quiet for a long, long time. Then, he breathes in and steadies himself. “A homosexual,” he admits finally, “I didn’t know I was a homosexual.” His eyes flick up to Hank’s face— he’s thankful to see that his stare has softened. “I’m sorry. I wish there was a way to express that to you more clearly, because— you deserve more than a short _‘I’m sorry’_ and nothing else.”

Hank captures his eyes in his own, breathing softly, shallowly, stepping forward and reaching up to cup Cole’s face in his hand. “I believe you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I believe you, and— God, I hate myself for it.”

Cole leans his cheek into Hank’s hand, staring into his eyes. “I’m not going to stay with her,” he murmurs. “I don’t think I can.”

Hank brushes his hair out of his face. “Then we can stay together, when we get back home to California.” He offers Cole a reassuring smile. “Sound good?”

Cole nods without a second thought, his heart skipping a beat. “Yes,” he says. “I couldn’t ask for anything better.”

Hank’s smile becomes more genuine. Wordlessly, he leans in to close the gap between him and Cole in a bittersweet kiss. Oh, what Hank didn’t know— what he didn’t know about Cole, what he didn’t know about himself, what he didn’t know about war…

...what he didn’t know about death.

 

* * *

  
**v. last**

 _and after this_  
_can we last another night?_  
_after all the bad advice_ _  
had nothing at all to do with life._

 

Gunfire, explosions, screams— all ringing in Cole’s ears as he sprints across the battlefield, his focus on one thing and one thing alone: _Hank._

He has to make sure he’s okay. He has to make sure he’s alive, and breathing, and that they’re going to go to California together, get an apartment together, live together, together, _together—_ he has to make sure they’re safe _together._

Cole nearly stumbles when he finally notices that he’s running alone, the others dropping like flies around him. He doesn’t have time to think about it, though— he spots Hank in a foxhole, shooting desperately at the enemy and ducking back into cover. Cole practically dives in next to him, placing a hand on his back as he keeps his eyes ahead.

“Hank,” he says breathlessly, “the whole company’s gone. The Major is dead. We’re being overrun— we _have_ to get off of this hill!” He doesn’t realize that he’s shouting, his heart pounding in his ears.

Hank turns towards him then, eyes wide as he shakes his head feverishly. “That’s one of our .50 cals still firing, Cole! The 22nd are still fighting!” He glances towards the roaring fires around them, his eyes burning through Cole when he turns back. “We have to do our duty!”

“No, no, Hank—” Cole grabs Hank’s shoulder, gripping tight. “Please, we have to get out of here! It’s the only way—”

“We’ll make it through!” Hank’s shouting over the gunfire, moving away from Cole to get a better view of what’s going on— but it’s for naught. Smoke and dust cover the battlefield like a fog, effectively blocking his view of anything. He hisses something unintelligible under his breath, tilting his head towards Cole. “They can’t see us, Cole. We can wait here all morning if we want to.” He’s lowered his voice now, reaching out and putting his hands on Cole’s shoulders, speaking just for him. “I love you. We’ll come out of this.”

Cole nods vigorously. “I love you,” he echoes, a smile tugging at his lips. “We’ll come out of this—”

There’s an explosion right in front of him. He cries out, rolling over as he feels a searing pain erupt throughout his entire left side. The ringing in his ears reaches an impossible pitch, clutching _something_ closer to his chest and wheezing out a sob. When the white clears from his eyes, he looks down— notices the _red_ all over him, all over the watch and the arm he’s holding close. Everything else hits him at once— the _sickening warmth,_ the bile in his stomach churning as his gaze snaps over to—

—blood and ash.

Hank isn’t there.

 

* * *

  
**vi. afterlife**

 _is this the afterlife?_  
_it's just an afterlife_ _  
it's just an afterlife with you._

 

It’s over.

Cole’s home.

It’s not _home_ anymore; all of that planning with _him_ has made him despise the word. Not a day goes by that _he_ isn’t on Cole’s mind, _his_ brown eyes and _his_ beautiful smile. God, even without saying his name, the thoughts still sicken him.

Cole couldn’t go to the memorial. He couldn’t bring himself to even call _his_ parents, offer condolences. What would he even say? _“I’m the man who had an affair with your son, I loved him more than I love myself, and I’m sorry for your loss.”_ Cole exhales sharply. _Shut up._

For once, the thoughts cease. He swallows hard, straightening up and adjusting the cuffs of his new uniform, freshly washed and ironed the night before. His hands go up to try and make the tie look better, but— he grimaces. _Good enough._ Cole takes a step back then, staring at the stranger in the mirror with furrowed brows.

He breathes in— breathes out in a thready wheeze, tears pricking at his eyes and rolling down his cheeks.

_I miss him._


End file.
